


Pochard

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Ficlet, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-11 02:19:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15305292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Erestor brings a problem to Elrond’s begrudging attention.





	Pochard

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MistressOfLions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressOfLions/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for the-puppets-mistress’s “Elrondir where Lindir has somehow managed to have the ducklings follow him around everywhere he goes; Elrondir finds this both adorable and amusing” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit, The Silmarillion, The Lord of the Rings, or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Imladris, for the most part, is a gentle place, and Lord Elrond is fortunate for the breaks that it affords him. There will always be _something_ to do—ruling any land comes with great responsibilities—but for the most part, many can wait, and Elrond doesn’t take his realm’s peaceful beauty for granted.

It’s a particularly beautiful day—Arien is high above, but a pleasantly cool wind wafts about the valley, and many of the early spring’s flowers have started to bloom. Elrond strolls slowly through them, admiring what his staff has done with this year’s gardens. He passes under and awning of wisteria and wades through the tall grass towards the roses. A stone bench waits for him, but just before he reaches it, a familiar voice calls, “My lord.”

Elrond stifles his sigh. He knew he wouldn’t get away with such a leisurely walk for long, but at least it was nice while it lasted. He turns to find Erestor emerging from the nearest building, slipping out of the shade to approach Elrond in the usual brisk, matter-of-fact way that Erestor always does things. The idleness of the morning seems to have little effect on him. He stops just before Elrond with a short half bow and straightens to chide, “We really must do something about this Lindir issue, my lord. I am aware that you are quite fond of him, but this has gone on long enough, and at this point, it has become a matter of hygiene.”

Elrond simply lifts a brow. He is, indeed, _very_ fond of his assistant, but he still doesn’t show favouritism. He answers with full confidence, “I am sure it is not so bad as all that. Lindir has always shown the utmost respect for my home.”

“I am aware of his spotless track record,” Erestor immediately counters, “Nevertheless, he has clearly grown lax in his standards.”

“Has he actually neglected any of his duties?”

Erestor pauses. Elrond knows very well that Lindir hasn’t, because Lindir never would, and Erestor concedes, “Not as of yet. But if this is to continue...”

And he continues, but the words miss their target. Back the way that Erestor came, their very subject of conversations exits the veranda, carrying a crisp stack of folded linens, and he takes slow and careful steps across the pathway to the next building. He pauses often to check behind him, because a gaggle of tiny brown and yellow ducklings are struggling to keep up with him, and in their eagerness to follow, they’re continually bumping into one another and toppling over. They chirp brightly up at him, flapping their under-formed wings, webbed feet shuffling all around his ankles. Lindir’s sweet face is understandably swamped with affection, and he waits for all seven to be safely in his bubble before he moves again. The little herd was born only a short while ago in the pond outside his quarters, and when the mother duck couldn’t be found, the babies seemed to imprint on him. Elrond hasn’t seen anything so uniquely adorable since his own children were so small.

As Lindir disappears through the doorway beyond, Erestor presses, “My lord?”

“My apologies,” Elrond smoothly provides, turning back to his advisor. To the thin frown on Erestor’s lips, Elrond adds, “Come now, Erestor. You must admit it is, at the very least, quite cute.”

“I will admit nothing of the sort. It is unhygienic, and I expect better of him.” In fact, Elrond’s sure that’s a large part of the problem—Erestor usually seems to like Lindir a great deal, and thus he must feel all the more disappointed. At least if it were one of Elrond’s sons to drag animals throughout the halls, the disruption would be expected. But Elrond knows that Lindir’s heart is as big as his work ethic.

Nonetheless, Elrond does recognize that Erestor is best appeased, and he can’t ignore trouble simply because of his own heart. For the betterment of his household, he promises, “I will speak to him.”

Erestor nods. “That is all I ask.”

With that, Erestor excuses himself, leaving Elrond to finally release a sigh and follow after Lindir. The ducklings have left no discernable trail to follow, but that isn’t surprising—Elrond wouldn’t be surprised if Lindir somehow had them all house-broken. Elrond is, however, able to follow a different trail—when Lindir is reasonably alone, as he is in the currently unoccupied guest housing, Lindir tends to hum. He has a minstrel’s voice, lilting and delightful even without words, and Elrond is able to chase the fleeting sounds of a quiet song. He finds Lindir in the first open room he comes to, fastidiously changing bed sheets while the ducklings huddle to the side and peer adoringly up at him. As soon as Elrond’s over the threshold, Lindir looks up to smile.

When Elrond approaches Lindir, the ducklings flare to life, waddling quickly over to crowd around his feet. A few of them even climb onto his toes, and Lindir chuckles lightly, bending down to tenderly pick them up and place them back on the floor. When he straightens, his gorgeous smile is all the brighter, and he looks to Elrond like a benevolent Maia, blessing all the Valar’s gifts around him.

Lindir asks, in a voice still made of song, “What can I do for you, my lord?”

It’s always been a very rare thing in Elrond’s long, long life for his breath to be taken away. He’s lived through many centuries, met the greatest of warriors, shared a loving marriage and raised four wondrous children. But every now and then, Lindir rivals all of that. The tiniest of the seven ducklings coos up to him, distracting Lindir’s gaze, but that only compounds the splendor of the moment. Elrond finds himself saying, “Nothing—everything is perfect as it is.”

Lindir tilts his head, eyes glinting curiously. Elrond leans in to kiss his cheek, redirecting his attention with another brush across his lips. Lindir’s cheeks flush a pretty pink, and he all but glows with happiness.

Elrond hasn’t the strength to challenge that. He turns to go, knowing full well that he’s failed in his duties. Sometimes, one must simply accept that a task is impossible.

As Elrond passes through the open door, Lindir calls, “My lord?” Elrond pauses, glancing back. “Forgive me, but I had meant to ask... is this alright, for Aredhel, Elros, Arwen, Elrohir, Elladan, Estel, and Bilbo to accompany me in my work? At least until their mother is found or they are old enough to continue on their own?”

Elrond didn’t know that they had names. Though he’s been given the perfect opening to shut this down, his grin has become too difficult to contain. All he can manage is a nod. Then he forces himself to leave, before he can learn which duckling is which and fall all the deeper under his Lindir’s charming spell.


End file.
